Cold and silence, by Sergi Pàmies

The first half against Leganés begins with the classic defensive mistake that leads to the rival’s success. 0-1. The situation becomes more complicated when Lamine Yamal suffers an apparently fortuitous tackle that forces him to play below his capabilities. Olmo misses a play that, if Ferran missed it, we would call him anything. Lamine Yamal’s possible injury causes an expectant silence, more chilling than the temperature in Montjuïc. The cold goes from being climatological to emotional.

Before the match, Hansi Flick, unjustly sent off and sanctioned, said that he does not want Barça to waste energy in complaining. It is a reflection that questions one of the club’s hallmarks. The proposal is countercultural, especially considering that the coach adds that, in exchange, the team will have to play better. Like metaphysical gasoline, the complaint is inherent to the culé condition. I understand that Flick only denies it to the players, but that he accepts it among the fans, who, to begin with, complain about the cold – a cold that petrifies the nipples – that it is.

Before the game, Flick says he doesn’t want Barça to waste energy complaining

If we review our experience as Barcelona fans, we will realize that complaining has given us a lot of satisfaction and has helped us overcome difficult moments. A mathematical formula could be developed: complaint + guilty = consolation. Not only have we developed a virtuosity of complaint by applying it to external factors (the list is not necessary) but we have also extended it to a self-inflicted complaint that we disguise as self-criticism and transform into the backbone of our historiography.

Flick knows that, if he complained, he would lose the import prestige that, since Joan Gamper, foreign figures have given us. Flick’s philosophy connects with that of Lao Tzu, who said: “It is smarter to light a small candle than to complain about the darkness.” Example of darkness: when the Leganés players fall to gain – and lose – time. In fact, one of the weak points of his predecessor, Xavi Hernández, was not so much football as emotional. How he protested the referee’s decisions, or elaborated the interpretations before and after the matches, could be very wise and audacious, but they always included a genetically Barcelonian burden of complaint. When we listened to Xavi, we saw ourselves so reflected in his argument of lamentation that the experience of looking in the mirror became an almost pornographic exercise.

The second half begins with Lamine Yamal in the lineup, a presence that relieves us and worries us at the same time. The game accelerates, and the team maintains the tenacity to create scoring opportunities. The substitute coach, Marcus Sorg, imposes the appearance of a retired surfer and conveys conviction. The referee does not blow a possible penalty, which those of us who can complain about take the opportunity to complain vehemently and use foul language. Is the result fair? Maybe not, but by now we know that life, in Montjuïc and everywhere, is unfair.